


Meat pies

by Charles_Rockafellor



Category: Gnomes (Wil Huygen)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Food Porn, Gallows Humor, Gnomes, Jötnar | Jotuns | Frost Giants (Norse Religion & Lore), Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Mild Gore, Schlimazel, Trolls, family values
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charles_Rockafellor/pseuds/Charles_Rockafellor
Summary: The family that bakes together, stays together.  The misadventures of an ever-hungry Troll named Snotgurgle, and his long-suffering wife Grumblewart, are a series of self-contained short stories (each chapter alone concluding its own mini-arc), with a general larger arc connecting them all.It's all about a family of Trolls living in modern-day Jötunheimr (southeast of Niflheimr and east of Earth 1 [Orion Earth: Miðgårðr]), the approximately Bronze Age multi-species land that once was the gargantuan expanse of ᛃᚯᛏᚢᚾᚺᚨᛁᛗᛦ·ᚲᚨᛁᛊᚨᚱᚨᚷᚨᚱᚧᚢᚱ [  Jötunheimr Keisaragarður:Jötunheimr Imperial Park].  Though not necessary here, a map of Jötunheimr (made with AutoREALM) is included in the main body of chapter one.  If your eye is twitching at the futhark set, there's a reason; jötunska onlyparallelsíslensku (see .pdf's notes section for further details [.pdf's URL in head-note of this story's first chapter]).𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆! ❤️
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 4
Collections: Family, Food Porn of Icewall, Humor and Comedy, Jötunheimr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know of any public domain artwork (whether canon or fanart) in Huygen's fandom, so I can't drop it straight into the fic as an illustration (unless the artist were to give me permission), just point you to [a URL where you can see examples of his Trolls](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/50/24/dc/5024dcbdce7b252d6fb0794dc7df586c.png).
> 
> Jötunheimr itself can be seen relative to its neighbors in this [local area map of the Icewall universe](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1kWgi_k1artGUfK8JaA2gpw3CLGNI1DU8/view?usp=sharing).
> 
> I didn't go overboard and make the map just for “Meat pies”; it came about for another story, “Nyjötnar saga”, that I'm working [very slowly] on. It's an extrapolation of what the Jötnar culture and society might be like millennia after Ragnarök. That story is currently only at the preliminary stages, but you can find it at [my Google drive](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1BG7P_sVezz8Dn5b8js_34yeAjSBhfN0v), if somehow you're champing at the bit for more material on it.  
> 

_**Jötunheimr ([open image](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/25/e8/52/25e85251a7f72930603da665f2b06e44.jpg) in new tab to zoom)** _

“Come on then, give us a Gnome!” Snotgurgle whinged on.

Grumblewart growled, but obligingly fished a Gnome out of the cage.

Handing the squirming vermin to Snotgurgle, she said “Fine, but this one's the last for now – ye'll go off yer dinner, ye will.”

“Thanks, luv,” Snotgurgle grimaced, clawing her arm affectionately.

Grumblewart returned to rolling out the pie crust as Snotgurgle bit into his snack.

“Oi, juicy one, that! D'ye fink they feel anyfink? I mean, like right peoples, like us, see?”

“Don't be daft, you silly sod! Where'd ye get such notions from?”

Snotgurgle frowned at his Gnome. It wasn't squirming so much now. Better finish it before it went all soggy.

“Only they make these noises, see, and...”

“And ye fink that makes 'em smart, eh? Tosser! Look, I've bloody work to do 'ere, so would ye mind focusing on the task at 'and then?”

“Well, right, yeah, see, it's jus' that” he began. “I was just sayin' as 'ow there's all these squiggles in their cage, see, and some of them squiggles is repeatin', see...”

Grumblewart sighed, knowing that she'd never get the maggots bathed and off to bed at this rate if she didn't pay him some mind.

Settling down to her kitchen stone, she turned full on him and waited. The Look.

“Oh, 'ey, I didn't mean nuffink, see, just...”

“Talk to me, Snotgurgle. Wot ye got on yer mind then?”

“Oh, cheers, luv!” Snotgurgle was dumbfounded, so he rallied around the safest response that he knew.

“The Gnomes, yeah?”

“Right, yeah, the Gnomes! Well, the wee buggers get inta everyfink, hey, and sos I was finkin' as 'ow they must be maybe finkin' to themselves as to how to get there, see, and... so maybe they can fink, yeah?”

“Right then, let's see these squiggles o' yours then, 'ey, Snotty?”

He grimaced at her again. It truly warmed the cockles of his heart when she called him pet names.

“Right, 'ere we go then,” he said as he scurried of to the Gnome cage.

The Gnomes scampered about to and fro as he hefted it over to her at the stone.

“Frantic li'l shites,” she observed, “'small wonder they don't 'ave coronaries, the lot o' them!”

Snotgurgle wasn't listening just then though. He was intent upon the slab of slate that he'd stuck in there as a lean-to shelter to make them quiet down and feel at home. There were squiggles on it.

“Look at tha' then, 'ey? Squiggles!” he beamed.

Grumblewart looked. Sure enough, there were squiggles.

“An' ye fink that shows us as 'ow they can fink?” she asked. _The Look_ again.

“Well, maybe not those squiggles as such, no, only I mean sometimes they might, see, an'...” he trailed off.

“Ah, yer a right wanker you are, Snots,” she said as she swiped her talons across his cheek, returning his affection from earlier.

She sighed again. He was a loon, but he was sweet on her, and a good da.

“Now. Can I get back to me bakin' then, wi'out no more o' yer talk?” she insisted, “An' go see what the maggots are up to – they've been too quiet fer too long, yeah?”

Snotgurgle grimaced once more, and turned toward the living room cave. He was lucky to have her, he was.

**O ~~~ O**


	2. Simple Simon says...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will I find  
> melon rinds  
> and bits of hot dogs,  
> cookie crumbs and rotten cotton candy,  
> melted ice cream,  
> mustard drippings,  
> moldy goodies everywhere?
> 
> Lots of popcorn, apple cores,  
> banana peels and soggy sandwiches,  
> and gobs of gorgeous gook to gobble at the fair!
> 
> \-- Templeton, “ _Charlotte's Web_ ”

Snotgurgle was hungry. He was always hungry, so that made no difference, but the point was that he was hungry right now and Grumblewart had already fallen asleep. If he were to get out of bed, then he might wake her, causing no end of trouble in itself, not to mention that she'd _also_ give him hell for raiding the icebox _and_ for making a mess _and_ for not simply asking her to do it for him _and_ for making her get up to do it for him _and_ for...

He lay there wondering what to do as his stomach reminded him once more of all of those yummy, juicy Nisse-pies just sitting there not being eaten by anyone, all forgotten and wasting away, and of the whole tank just crammed full of Nisser squirming around as if begging to be snacked on, especially once you dunked them in hot sauce and really made them wriggle...

A little salt sprinkled here, a dollop of jam and honey smeared there, shove a few into Nisse-larded and buttered bread with some fjord-seaweed and dunk it all into a bowlful of gravy, squishy juices in the offing... maybe toast a few with cheese – there was that entire head of reindeer-Västerbotten that they'd gotten a few days ago... there were even a few of those sugar-crystalized Nisser covered in cinnamon, left over from last week... whole handfuls of crumbled Nisse-bacon tossed into a nice little chard and rutabaga salad, maybe a few slices of dill-pickled Nisse on the side... grate a few over herring eggs and crayfish, and dip some oiled, stale rugbrød into it... throw back a plateful of Nissefrikadeller and chips as he watched the bats flitter around outside, tossing a few Nissekebab over the fire in the meantime... wash it all down with some good, strong spiced akvavit... he smiled dreamily at the thought of such scrumptious treats melting in his mouth.

He couldn't take it anymore. This was sheer torment.

Stretching his leg out slowly, he crept from the fur pile, inching his way toward the bed-cave door-hole.

Grumblewart moaned and smacked her lips as she rolled over.

He froze in place with no idea of how he would explain this to her.

The night-glow of the sky crept slowly across the kitchen-cave as the beam coming through the crack high in the wall marked the darkness creeping away toward day-shine.

Quietly, ever so quietly, a frayed and poorly constructed twine of green plant tendrils slipped lower and lower toward the kitchen counter, playing out from a small hole in the shelf-dugouts.

Reaching the countertop, the twine now swung gently from side to side in ever-larger sweeps, then leapt the wall of the Nisse-tank in one swift jerk.

The first Nissen immediately securing itself within a loop as if its life depended on it, the twine now drew taught, then withdrew in increments back toward the hole in the wall.

Soon the twine was lowered once more, the task repeated.

As the last of the Nisser was drawn upward, Snortgurgle lumbered into the room, the Nissen dangling there in mid-air.

They stood still, staring at each other in confused consternation.

“Oh, 'ey! Wot're you about, then?” Snotgurgle cried.

The Nissen looked around as if wondering whom Snotgurgle might be addressing.

“Yeah, you there,” Snotgurgle clarified.

“Me? I'm just Simon, a simple salt shaker, sir. Minding my own salty business. And you?”

Snotgurgle wasn't sure now what to make of things. He didn't remember having any Nisse-shaped salt shakers, but Grumblewart must have gotten some.

“Oh, right then. Ehm, I'm looking fer a midnight snack, I am,” he replied, not wishing to seem the fool.

“Ahh, well, carry on then,” Simon said.

“Well just you stick around, you,” Snotgurgle replied, Simon's blood freezing in his veins at this, “I'll be needing me some salt soon enough.”

Simon wiped his brow at this, then tugged the twine slightly as Snortgurgle rummaged through the larder.

He was almost to the shelf when Snotgurgle came back in.

“Oi!” Snotgurgle shouted, “I told you ter stay put, I did!”

“Of course sir, just putting myself back on the shelf... I erm, fell over earlier.”

“Fair enough, that.”

Simon returned to his escalade as Snotgurgle prepared a small smörgåsbord. He'd just righted himself as Snotgurgle called out again.

“Yer full up, yeah?”

“Pardon, sir”

“Yer salt, yer not short none, are ye?”

“I'm afraid so, sir,” he replied, scrabbling for any excuse to avoid attention, “Some Gnomes tumbled me over earlier, and it all spilled out, and that's why I was climbing back up when you came in.”

“Right. Bugger it,” Snotgurgle sighed.

Simon inched his way toward the hole as Snotgurgle made for the Nisse-tank, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together.

“Oh, 'ey, wot's all this?!?”

Simon's hopes fell as Snotgurgle turned to him.

“There's none of 'em about. They're all cleared off!”

Relieved once more, Simon replied “I'm afraid so sir,” his voice balanced between sympathy and head-shaking, “They were the ones who dumped me over, in fact.”

“Ohh, bloody 'ell, our Grumblewart'll blame us for it, and we'll never hear the end of it!”

Simon felt bad for the Troll, but slipped away into the shadows as Snotgurgle lamented his position.

**O ~~~ O**


	3. To market, to market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends and good times are always just around the corner, but what is one to do when the larder's still shy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have an overlap with “ _Nyjötnar Saga_ ”, and see the cameo appearance of that story's main characters, Leif and Skaði.
> 
> And for the search engine: “Kardashev”.
> 
> * * *

Ahh, The Market. Snotgurgle couldn't get enough of it. Boot sale items that nobody else wanted anymore, food stalls vending kartöflusalat **1** and Nisse-pâté and shaved ice with sweet berries, games to play, and all of it set within the yawning cavern of a mile-wide tree stump (there was weather in there) – the main trunk stretched off far into the south southwest, housing the swarming city of Little Jötunheimr where absolutely everyone lived – well, everyone except anyone who didn't live there, at any rate – but The Market was boisterous enough for most interests. The maggots were having the times of their lives, running rampant all over the place and screaming their heads off. Even Grumblewart had smiled at the antics of a Hobgoblin and Svirfneblin team as they'd performed a comedy sketch full of pratfalls.

_Sweltering day! Must be five degrees above freezing **2** , if it's an inch!_

The show had begun with watermelon everywhere. Not watermelons all over the place, mind, but watermelon being smashed open and scattered all over the front row seats. That had set the tone for everyone else. The front row had the last laugh on them with that though, each one getting a melon and a fruit basket to take home, with the rest of the audience members still receiving a door prize for participation. There was even a concession stand out front where anyone could pick up more of these for a bargain price, if they were minded of it, right down to chocolate covered lingonberries and candied almonds.

Snots had seen the lingonberries on the way in and wondered at them, but it all made sense in the end. Somewhat.

It was in the third act, when some new characters had been introduced. Cecil the sea serpent had found his way into a confectionary shop and begun devouring everything in sight, which had actually resulted in candies being tossed everywhere at the crowd. It had been a little too complicated for Snotty to follow, but he liked the food and eating. All the little ones had screamed with giddy joy at the closing act with the were-kitten coloratura.

He had enjoyed the whole show, and was glad for Grumbles's smile, given her mood that morning when she'd found the Nisser all gone. She'd given him merry hell for it at first, but simmered down once she'd seen his appetite over breakfast. He couldn't have faked that, and he'd obligingly set all of the traps and even taken a few extra out of storage, so they'd be well stocked again in no time.

Snotgurgle was in high fettle when he espied his friends Leif and Skaði nearby. They were Jötnar from down in Heimfjord, and a little hard to understand, but still good people. If ever you saw the one of them about, you could be sure that the other wasn't far off. Just now they were awaiting orders of sausage and eggs. Stuffing the last of his plum bun with fish-stuffed squid tentacle into his mouth, Snots rearranged his packages, finished his chicory milkshake, and set off in their direction, calling out to them.

“Oi! I've half a mind ter run roughshod over you two, not sayin' 'ello an' all! Cuts me to the quick, that does,” he began, drawing both of them into his hug, each arm alone long enough to do this by itself.

He nodded to the vendor for two more orders of sausage and eggs for himself, as he edged around to the brown sauce.

“Snots,” Leif grinned, “Hvað segirðu – how are you doing, brother? Grumbles and the kids here too?”

Skaði gave him a peck on his warty cheek and a warm smile.

“ _Kvad_... oh 'ey, I knows this one!” Snotgurgle replied, scratching his chin and brushing a strand of greasy hair out of his way.

 _'Kvad.' Or was that '_ hvad _?' Sounds like ' what,' a bit. Hey – '_ what _' –_ that _was it!_

_Segirðu..._

“Right then, give us a hint, would yer?”

Leif smiled, “ _What say you_ , Snots? Surely you're of a mind to see this through?”

He nodded and shrugged. It was a game that they played together on and off every time that he saw them. He was learning their language, _Jötunsku_ , bit by bit. Other Trolls looked up to him, respected him for that, they did.

 _What... say-ger do. What do say, maybe? No, can't be right. What's '_ say-ger _' to do with saying, then? 'cept as how I'd be the one saying it, so I'd be the say-er? Yeah, alright. So..._ what say do _? Wait now, that ain't it. They say sumfink funny-like, thu or thou or... yeah, that's right, that's how they say '_ you _!'_

“I say I'm doing right fine, Leif. An' hows by you, then?”

Leif slapped Snotgurgle's shoulder as Skaði leapt to hug him again. He was beaming with a sense of accomplishment at this, his beady eyes shining with pleasure.

As Skaði released him, he realized that her chest had gotten all bumpy since he'd last seen her.

_Good on 'er. A bit of mis-shapin'll do her right. Too much the same in every direction an' she'll never find a mate..._

“You never cease to amaze me, Snotty,” Skaði said, “Are Grumbles and the kids around? We brought presents for them.”

“Oh, 'ey?”

“Aye, throwing axes!”

Snotgurgle nodded at this. Sound choice, throwing axes. The maggots would have a ball with those.

“So yeah, there I was, left standin' 'round, not knowing wot to do. The Gnomes up and scarpered last night, every last bugger of 'em. At least, 'swot Simon said. Sods.”

“Simon?” Leif prompted.

“Yeah. Me salt shaker.”

 _Salt shaker?_ both Leif and Skaði wondered, _Well, Trolls could sometimes be a bit... peculiar._

“Ooh, and hey! We got us some salted airwhale tongue, and airwhale liver with pepper, an' even some prime grill-seared garlic-blubber for dinner. Cor **3**! Yer coming to dinner, of course,” Snotgurgle continued as they neared the fair ground where he'd last seen Grumblewart.

“This is good,” Skaði replied, “We have something of an announcement to make.”

He wondered what this portended, but hadn't the chance to ask before Grumblewart scooped them up in her arms.

“And where have the two of you been off to of late? Dancing with the Faeries, I shouldn't wonder!”

“We're going vikíng!” Leif told her, once she'd let them go long enough to catch their breaths again, “Aye, and it's to be before this winter's thaw, so there's still time yet if you'd join us.”

“Vee King?” asked Snotgurgle, “Who's he then? Sounds important, if he's a king.”

“Not a Vee King, Snotty, we're _going vikíng_. Leif's heart is set on sailing across Skaldhår, to climb Suðurhliðið and see what lies beyond Hár Jökullinn,” Skaði said, her eyes on him as she explained it all.

“What lies beyond...?” Grumblewart began, eyeing them both “Oh dearie me, it just goes on forever, don't you know. What could possibly be out there that isn't right here already? Tosh!”

“Come on, then,” Snotgurgle said, “Let's gather the maggots up. We'll take the underground **4** and be home for dinner before dark.”

 _Funny name, that_ , he thought idly, _Why's it called the underground if all of its rivers are way up in the branches of The Market, stretching out for miles, yeah, but well above the ground?_

“ _Dinner!_ ” Grumblewart exclaimed, “Oh I've a mind tae bop you one, Snots! We'll need more food if we're to host guests at all well!”

So saying, she gathered her skirts and hurried away.

“Oh, err...” he managed.

“Not to worry, Snotty,” Leif said hurriedly, “I'm sure that we can manage something. If you'd oblige us just a few, then?”

Snotgurgle wasn't sure what was happening, but nodded and shrugged as they hurried off as well.

Left to his own devise now, he pondered what had happened. He simply couldn't fathom it. Everything had been going swimmingly – his friends had shown up, they were coming to dinner, and then everyone rushed off...

And that's when it struck him: they'd need more food, they would!

With that, he lumbered off to the nearest butcher to see to things.

As it turned out, they had more than enough food in the end. The underground was in sparse use at the moment, and they'd even found some driftwood to float their various goods – and there was quite a bit to be had of those.

Grumblewart had gotten a brace of geese, Skaði had insisted upon a young stag, and Snotgurgle had brought a fine boar.

In all, a bit much for their needs, but they'd managed well enough.

“Oh alright then, every little helps, eh?” Grumblewart had said, shaking her head at the overabundance of goods.

Dinner was partly prepared in the back yard, overlooking the swamp. They'd made a wonderful find there, when not long after their moving in, the oxbow had looped almost halfway to their doorstep, providing swimming holes and mossy hillocks and barrows, not to mention all of the fish and lizards and snakes and turtles they could eat.

As the meat roasted, a wonderful caramelized protein scent filling the air, Grumblewart had set out the crumbcake – all crumb, of course – leaning over to whisper to Skaði that the secret was lard, then glancing at Leif and repeating herself. The cake was only there to be admired for now, with the promise to come of milky ale with egg and honey. It would be the endpiece as they sat out back in the glow of plant bladders burning swamp gas and attracting bugs to their sweet digestive juices.

Grumblewart's cooking was even better than what Snotgurgle might hope for at a _Tiny Chef_ (funny name that, since their chefs came in all sizes and species...). Boršč, his favorite! You could never tell what you were going to get from her boršč pot **5** – beets or sorrel or rye or oats or cabbage, and with all sorts of things in, such as sausage or ham, spinach, potatoes, sour cream, eggs, nuts, mushrooms, tomatoes, and cheese – every ladle was a surprise, and all from a single pot; that was right magic there, that was.

Leif and Skaði nodded their thanks. He felt a bit sorry for the Jötnar; they didn't have boršč in Heimfjord. Of course, the maggots started squabbling and swapping bowls as soon as they were set out, but that was why they had their own table, keeping the mess and ruckus to a minimum for the adults.

Grumbles came to his bowl last, her look inscrutable. He was likely still in the doghouse, even now, but at least she saw fit to feed him. Whichever boršč he ended up with would be fine with him, as they were all delicious, but it was the surprise awaiting him upon lifting his bowl's lid that held his real delight, always wondering which sort he'd gotten this time, and this time was no disappointment for therein lay a dumpling of some kind.

Upon poking it, he discovered it to have an odd shape... Why, lo and behold, it was a Gnome, floating face down on the side of a plum! It was all trussed up to look like a duck – his Grumbs had forgiven him, she had!

 _Boršč with Gnome in; bleeding brilliant!_ Hmm, shoving a Gnome in, that gave him a thought... _Gnome-stuffed Gnome sounds good, but it's hard to find them in the right sizes to shove one into the other – maybe a squeeze-tube of Nisse-pâté at each end, then float it on a bed of cress and cucumber..._

That evening, Grumblewart showed them to the guest-cave, remarking that it was a bit drafty and the furs just never did the trick, so they'd have to snuggle close if they were to get any rest at all. As she said this, she'd given Skaði a wink and a nudge, bringing a hot blush to Skaði's face as Leif thanked her most seriously for her kind and sagely advice.

As night settled in, Snotgurgle thought of the morrow. Guests meant oatmeal for breakfast! Oatmeal with loads of jam in, piles of bacon and muffins – and leftovers! Oh, he was as happy as a maggot on Ymir's day.

As he imagined all of this, it occurred to him that there were so many leftovers right now, just sitting there not being eaten by anyone, all forgotten and wasting away...

**O ~~~ O**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1** \-- Kartöflusalat: Strictly, the foods and social structures ascribed herein to the residents of Jötunheimr are somewhat too complex for the most part, given that my canon sees them as being under the effects of a mental acuity damping field set down by the Æsir, but some liberty is taken for the ease of interpreting their culture.
> 
> **2** \-- Five degrees: I imagine the Trolls not to actually use any fine tuned temperature gauges as such, but take some liberty here in translating his thinking to our own terms. In this instance, I'm using Celsius, and so he's thinking of ≈5° C or ≈41° F as being “sweltering”.
> 
> **3** \-- Cor: An ancient Troll God, well over 8,000 years old, the self-styled "Troll Gods" (who can't wield divine energies, incidentally) being so named in their hubris for the grand levels of tri-tech (scientific, magical, and zooic) that they'd incorporated into themselves before Ragnarök. He lives and travels in what amounts to a Winnebago of high-Type I Kardashёv tri-tech (a jalopy, low-end even when it was new, and not remotely worth Æsir notice; Kryptonian-like Jötunn tri-tech; his OnStar-analog no doubt could still interact with the Jötunheimr wall, but he daren't permit this for fear of Æsir death-sats). In dice-RPG terms: wisdom, intelligence, and mental endurance are all at ≈8-9 (on a standard scale of 3d6 [3-18]) in a world that hovers ≈3-6. His visual aspect shifts with his mood (dotard and wrinkled, rippling muscles, Horror Factor aura). His superhearing's integrated expert system discerns for him the differences between exclamation of his name, it being merely part of word somewhere, a reference to any other Cor, a reference to him personally, a common invocation of him without true need, and the more urgent calling on him for help. Bi-directional ZPE “mitochondria” heat, cool, and feed him as needed; K2 reality inverters or better would be required in order to kill him (i.e.: not merely a black hole bomb, but something going one step further in swapping massenergy as the continuum for spacetime wavicles).
> 
> **Cf.:** “[EVA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363373)”, “[Megamechs 101](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385531)”, and “[The Space Orcs are coming, hooray, hooray!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063373/chapters/66076930)” re. Kardashёv tech and post-level civilizations (esp. in light of the anime “Fairy Tail” and “One Piece”, or Gregory Benford's “Galactic Center” novel series), following the events of “[Nothing's gonna change my world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380977)”.  
>  See also: “[Superheroes: Powers and Principalities](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371374)”, for a related study of scaling characters' relative power levels in writing and games.
> 
> **4** \-- Underground: it's the vast reaches of the low-lying branches still remaining on the stump that account for a good deal of the local weather pattern, as well as the main trunk driving the larger ebb and flow. Between the highlands and lowlands, dry hills, mountain pressure differentials, fjords, the sea and meadows, and The Market, the Little Jötunheimr region lies at a crucial meeting place of many different ecosystems.
> 
> **5** \-- Boršč pot: A family heirloom, this ancient device is stuck on the general boršč setting, so each serving is necessarily random per ladel, with the program opting for any specific version in its vast menu. It uses zero-energy technology (distinctly not ZPE), hence has no need of fissile batteries or magical conduits (which is good, given the significantly damped thaumovoltaic potential and arcane amperage of Jötunheimr). For any other dishes, Grumblewart uses a non-boršč pot.


End file.
